Voices At The Door
by Sir Gawaine
Summary: AKA Four Times Colin Left Someone A Post-It Note And One Time Someone Left Him One. Rated for minor language.


**A/N – I was most disappointed at the end of the Harry, Ruth, Kodaline series, because I really loved doing that. I have decided to kind of start another one, a 4 Things + 1 series, because I already have written two and want to write more. The two I already have are 'Your Hand in Mine' (Calum's story) and 'The Kids Are Alright' (Malcolm's). I have grand notions of doing one for every single character but we will see how that goes. That being said, you have to start somewhere.**

_i._

He could feel the eyes on him as he walked down the corridor, knew that somewhere just out of his sight, Charlie Rodman was waiting for him. Colin tried to walk tall, to show that he wasn't afraid, but his tummy churned like he was going to be sick and he definitely didn't feel brave. The other kids skirted around him, and wouldn't look him in the eye. They knew. Every single one of them knew what Charlie did to him and not one of them would ever help.

And then Charlie was there, big and tall already despite being only a year older than Colin was.

"Good morning, Colin, good morning," he said, and his voice was sing-song. People loved Charlie's voice, said it was only right that he sound like an angel to match the fact he looked like one. The girls said Charlie was beautiful. Colin only saw the malice in his green eyes. If Charlie was beautiful, it was in the same way that a hungry tiger was.

"Read any good books last night, Colin?" Charlie crooned, reaching out and taking Colin's glasses gently from his face. Charlie always did that – he must have liked the idea that Colin could hardly see a thing without them.

"No," he whispered. Around them, school life flowed on and no one gave them a second glance. It made Colin want to scream, it was so unfair.

"Are you sure? Isn't that what you spend half your life doing?"

"Sometimes."

The world tilted as Colin found himself shoved up against the wall and he blinked desperately. Charlie's face swam into view and he was no longer smiling. He dangled Colin's glasses in front of his face.

"I'll have my money, please," he said softly, his hand twisting Colin's tie into a knot, "How much did Mummy give me today?"

The knot began to tighten and Colin's resolve crumbled, like it always did. He fumbled in his pocket and held out his lunch money, like he always did. Charlie took it and let him go, tossing the glasses high into the air, like he always did. This time though, Colin didn't catch them. They shattered on the ground and he was left kneeling, sweeping together the shards of glass with hot, angry tears streaming down his face.

This time, it was too much.

He thought all day about Charlie, mumbling excuses to the teachers who asked what had happened to his glasses, and by the last lesson he knew what he was going to do. He was going to talk. Mrs Jones was his favourite teacher, young compared to a lot of them but not so young as to think she was everyone's friend. Colin was going to talk to her, just come right out and say it. She would help. He knew she would help. So he waited the whole lesson, prickling all over from nervous sweat, and when it finally ended he looked at Mrs Jones and he knew he would never be able to say it out loud. He wasn't brave. That was why Charlie liked him so much.

He cast around desperately for inspiration and saw a pad of sticky notes on the edge of Mrs Jones' desk. Daringly, for him anyway, he reached out and snatched them, peeling one from the top and throwing them back as quickly as he could. He stuck the note in his exercise book, over the pages that she would be reading that night, and he wrote frantically.

_It was Charlie Rodman that broke my glasses. He takes my money every day too, before school. Please, please help me._

He slammed the book closed, in case anyone was watching. He slipped the book onto the pile on her desk and made a run for it.

That night, he convinced himself that it wouldn't work, that she would think he was playing some game or even that it would fall out of his book and she wouldn't even see it.

The next day, at the exact moment Charlie had him pinned against the wall, Mrs Jones appeared from around the corner, and she wasn't alone. She had the headmaster with her and, as he grabbed Charlie by the collar of his blazer and asked him what the hell he thought he was doing, she straightened Colin's tie and smoothed his ruffled hair.

"Are you alright?" she asked loudly, acting – to his relief – like they had just stumbled upon the scene.

He nodded and whispered, so quietly that no one but her could hear him.

"Thank you."

_ii._

Section D was something else. Colin had never worked in a place quite like it and, so far, he loved it. The boss, Harry, was a bit unpredictable but he was a nice enough bloke. Lucas was great, really funny when you got him talking, and Amelia was sweet. Colin really liked Malcolm, his fellow techie. The man was a bit older than him but that didn't seem to matter once they got talking. Malcolm was a genius, that much was clear. Colin was in awe of him, to be honest; the guy spoke five languages fluently and had apparently read every book ever written. And his tech ideas…well, they were mind-blowing and the best part was that he was willing to share every single one of them with his new colleague.

By the end of his first week, Colin knew he had fallen on his feet.

Connie, the analyst, was the only one that he was having a bit of trouble with. She was outspoken and sharp and, at least in Colin's opinion, not very nice. Harry adored her though, and Lucas and Amelia listened diligently to every word that she said. Even Malcolm liked her, so Colin thought that she was probably alright once you got to know her. He just wasn't very sure how to do that. He felt like every time she spoke to him, she was weighing his answer and finding him wanting. Lucas told him not to worry about it, that Connie was like that with everyone new – it was practically a Section D rite of passage – and he would soon find his feet with her.

At the end of the first week, the team went out to the pub to celebrate another week without the end of the world happening on their watch. Connie and Harry ensconced themselves in a corner, close enough to join the conversation if they felt like it, far away enough that they could have their own without being disturbed.

Rather too much was drunk, not least because Colin was determined to match Lucas beer for beer and because Harry kept everyone else topped up with their fingers of whisky or whatever else they were drinking. When the pub closed, finally, they made their way slowly outside and Connie groaned.

"I'll need an entire pot of coffee tomorrow," she said severely, and turned to Malcolm with a question.

"Why do I ever let Lucas North talk me into anything? Come to the pub, Connie, it will be fun, Connie."

Lucas just grinned and leapt into the first taxi that pulled up. Colin followed him; it had not taken long to establish that they lived close enough to one another that sharing was a good idea. As the taxi left, Lucas leaned out of the window and tugged respectfully on his forelock. Connie returned the sentiment with a much less polite gesture.

When the Red Flash came the next morning, barely four hours after he had fallen into bed, Colin did the only thing that made sense and plunged his whole head into the bathroom sink, filled with ice cold water. Forcing down two aspirin for the killer headache, he stumbled back into a taxi and was the first back at the Grid.

He set about starting the coffee machine and then remembered what Connie had said before, about a whole pot of coffee. He took two pots from the cupboard and filled them both when the machine was ready, pouring himself a large mug from one and going back to his desk. He pulled a pad of Post-Its from his drawer and scrawled on one –

_Reserved for Connie. Hands off! Colin. _

He didn't add a smiley face, despite wanting to. He didn't think she would appreciate it. Wandering back through to the kitchen, he stuck the note on the full pot and returned to his desk. The rest of the team appeared a few moments later, looking decidedly worse for wear.

The next nineteen hours were hell, the worse that Colin had ever worked, but when Connie made a bee-line for the kitchen and began to cackle, he knew that he had done the right thing, and so those hours of hell that followed were perhaps not quite so bad as they could have been.

_iii._

"So, are you going to apologise to Danny or not?"

Colin looked up from his hiding place in the Den to find Malcolm standing over him, arms crossed in a decidedly un-Malcolm like pose.

Colin looked back down and said sulkily, "Not until he apologises to me."

"He didn't do anything and you know it," Malcolm said patiently, "We talked about this. Tom and Harry let him in. There was no need for you to react like you did. You were scared and now you have to just say sorry."

Fiddling with the motherboard he was currently operating on, Colin sighed. Malcolm was right, of course. Malcolm was always bloody right. The EERIE exercise had been cruel and over the top and he had been scared. He had snapped at Danny, who he considered a friend, and now he was hiding because he didn't want to see any of them. They had all been given two days off following the exercise but now they were back and they couldn't hold grudges forever. Danny had avoided him that morning, carefully stepping around him in the kitchen and holding his tongue when he clearly wanted to say something.

"I'm not very good at apologising," Colin muttered.

"I know. You'll find your way. Do it before the end of the day, please. I can't stand the tension."

It only occurred to Colin later that afternoon, as he was searching out some Post-It notes, that Malcolm had known this would be what he did. This is what he did when he didn't know what to say – he left people little notes, because in a note you could write it again and again and know that in the end you got it right. He wondered if Malcolm saw this as a deficiency in his character; his friend was, after all, so good at articulating himself.

_You could write him a note and ask, _a nasty little voice whispered, but Colin dismissed it. Malcolm was his friend and he didn't judge people. It didn't matter how you said it, as long as you did.

He thought for a long time about what to write and in the end settled for something simple.

_Danny – I'm sorry I blew up at you, mate. We were all scared and you didn't deserve it, especially from me. If you're still up for it, my mates are going on another barge cruise next month and you would be more than welcome. Best, Colin._

He added a smiley face for good measure and, when Danny stood to go to the break room, he hurried across and stuck it on Danny's computer. Malcolm smiled at him as he came back to his own desk and then he waited for Danny to return. When he did, he read the note and smiled, looking up to find Colin watching him and giving him a thumbs-up. Colin let out a breath he didn't know he was holding and grinned back.

It was so simple, when you really thought about it.

_iv._

It was a rare occasion that Colin was the only one on the Grid but today, it had happened.

Malcolm was out on surveillance with Fiona; Adam and Zaf were meeting undercover with the terrorist faction they were all currently chasing; Harry had a meeting with the Home Sec and Ruth had gone with him for some garbled reason that Colin was only half interested in. He was currently chasing the members of the faction and honing his new search software at the same time. If he could get it working, it would cut records search time by at least 25 per cent.

Then the phone rang and his peace was shattered.

"Wells," he said, flicking on the speaker so he could carry on working.

"Colin, it's me," Adam's voice was harried and Colin slowed down slightly on the keyboard.

"Adam? Alright, mate?"

"It's Zaf. His cover got blown. He got beaten up pretty badly. He's on the way to St. Thomas' but I have to get to Malcolm and Fiona. Is Ruth there? Can she go to the hospital and make sure he is alright?"

"She's not here," Colin said, "Went off to see the Home Sec with Harry. No one here except me."

"Damn it," Adam growled, "Well, you'll have to go then."

"Me? But I'm-"

"Please, Col," Adam pleaded, "Just go and make sure he is OK. An hour at most."

Sighing, Colin looked longingly at his computer, before he nodded for himself and said, "Alright. I'm on my way."

He left the old software running the slower search, so at least he would have something to come back to, and made his way to the hospital. The tube was quiet at least, being mid-morning, and before he knew it he was being led into Zaf's room by a nurse who looked about fourteen years old.

"It looks bad," she said softly, "But really it is all superficial. He's just sleeping, don't worry."

It _did_ look bad but Zaf's breathing was deep and even, and he mumbled happily to himself, off in whatever dream he was having. Colin nodded and left the room, fetching himself a coffee. He sat by Zaf's bed for a while and talked to the doctor, who repeated what the nurse had said, and told him that Zaf would be allowed to leave once he had woken and had his eyebrow stitched up.

"He'll have a small scar," the doctor said conversationally, "But I suppose in careers such as yours and his, a small scar is probably a badge of honour."

Colin didn't believe for a moment that the doctor actually thought he was a field agent but he appreciated the comment nonetheless. He asked the bloke for a Post-It note and a pen, scribbling Zaf a message before he left.

_Came all the way to see you, mate, but you were sleeping, you lazy bugger. Give us a ring when you finally feel like waking up and one of us will come and pick you up. Can't have Sleeping Beauty on the tube all by himself. Colin._

The nurse clucked disapprovingly when she read the note, stuck carefully on the lamp next to the bed, but Colin ignored her. He knew what Zaf would need when he woke up and it wasn't pity or coddling. A little dig and a bit of banter would do him just fine. It always did.

_+ i._

Jo helped Malcolm to clear Colin's desk and locker. She insisted upon it, and Malcolm was loathe to put her off. He had a feeling he was going to need her. He'd always pointedly refused to do this before, to clear the personal effects of whatever colleague they had lost, but it did not seem right that anyone else be responsible for Colin. He'd been looking after his friend for the best part of nine years already; what was one more day?

The desk didn't take long. Colin didn't keep much in it. There was some stationary – pens, drawing equipment for new designs, a few stacks of those infernal Post-It notes that the man was so fond of. Malcolm had never seen the appeal really, of leaving little messages scattered all over the place with little smiley or sad faces depending on their content. He's accepted it though, as had everyone else, as a little quirk of Colin's that made him special. Once, he had even written Colin one, a quote from a poem that they had been trying to remember all day. He'd even added one of those ridiculous smiley faces. Colin had been delighted to find it stuck on his computer the next day.

He adopted all of the stationary, even the notes, and let Jo throw away the rubbish – the receipts and the crisp packets and apple stickers – even though it felt like something of a betrayal. He gave the copious amounts of snack food- _so many snacks, how did the man never gain weight?_ - to Zaf.

The locker was going to be harder, he knew. He sat down on the bench in the locker room and let Jo take the lead, opening it up and taking things carefully out. There was a spare shirt or two, and the single tie that Colin owned, folded neatly. Some odd socks carelessly thrown in on top, not paired up because Colin didn't bother with that sort of thing. There were three battered books on the little shelf; _The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, The Lord of the Rings _and, bizarrely, _Paradise Lost. _They were Colin's favourites and he kept them here for night shifts when computers needed supervising but didn't need his complete attention. More crisps and biscuits stacked carefully at the back. A spare mug. A spare set of house keys with a Star Trek key ring.

Jo laid all of these things on the bench next to Malcolm, without a word. He ran his fingers over the covers of the books, the unmistakeable scent of Colin drifting up from the disturbed shirts. He didn't hear Jo at first, looking up to find her peeling one of those Post-It notes from the inside of the door.

"Almost missed this," she said quietly, "That's your handwriting, isn't it?"

It was the one note he had written that time, the ink smudged slightly from where Colin had re-stuck it inside his locker.

_I sit beside the fire and think of people long ago, and people who will see a world that I shall never know. But all the while I sit and think of times there were before, I listen for returning feet and voices at the door._

Malcolm didn't expect the tears that filled his eyes then. He blinked them away furiously and tucked the note inside the copy of _The Lord of the Rings. _Jo sat next to him and took his hand, squeezing it gently.

"He really loved his little notes, didn't he?" she said lightly, "What was the deal with that?"

Despite himself, Malcolm smiled. How did one even begin to describe such a man, who was in many ways, and really rather endearingly, still so very young and innocent? Jo was watching him though and he decided to try.

"It started the first week he was here," Malcolm shook his head indulgently, "Connie – you didn't know Connie – was a little difficult to get to know and one night…"

**A/N 2 – The quote is from the one, the onl Tolkien.**


End file.
